In Memory of my Grandmother

My mother's mother passed away in July of 2017. Eight months later, I'm ready to write about it. (Sometimes I deal with things fast, sometimes it's glacial). This isn't intended to be a biography; more of a poem, or a handful of Polaroids.

Phyllis Mulbarger -- "Mo" to her four grandchildren -- was, and ever shall be, an inspiration. Her love was boundless. She was nurturing, forgiving, generous, spiritual, and snarky as all get-out.

A couple years ago, Mo gleefully informed my mother: "I want my obituary to say that I was flippant and sarcastic." She dealt with a wide array of life-junk in her decades on this earth, and I think she summed up her secret to strength and joyous living in those two hilarious adjectives. I can imagine her saying: I'm not going to take this garbage seriously, and nobody can make me. Live your life. Laugh it off. Embrace the grace and grit of unbridled irreverence. "How else do you think I lived to be 90?" she queried rhetorically.

When I think of her, I see the sparkle in her eye and the impish look on her face. 

YES! THAT look!

YES! THAT look!

A giggle rises from down in my gut and soul, and in that bone-deep humor I feel the bright thread of light that binds me to my entire family before me, and all to come after.

In honor of a mighty woman, let's be flippant and sarcastic. Sláinte.